Oh, the long life of Vincent Van Gogh
by maddiedacat
Summary: Amy's eyes were red and she sniffed, "So you were right. No new paintings. We didn't make a difference at all." Years later on September 9th, 2013, a new Van Gogh painting is unveiled, and the Doctor has a little something for Amy.


_"Time can be rewritten! I know it can. Come on! Oh, the long life of Vincent Van Gogh. There'll be hundreds of new paintings."_

_"I'm not sure there will."_

_"Come ON!"_

Amy ran up the stairs and back to the Van Gogh exhibitation. She looked around becoming more and more frantic by the moment to see a new painting. To see that she had helped in saving a life; the life of perhaps the most beloved artist.

But she hadn't.

The Doctor followed her up the long staircase and and took a right at the statue in the centre of the landing. He watched the light and hope leave his companions eyes as she realized that she had made no difference. He knew this feeling quite well.

This painter, this person who had been so alive to her only moments earlier was now gone, and had been gone to the world for quite a while.

Amy's eyes were red and she sniffed, "So_ you were right. No new paintings. We didn't make a difference at all."_

"I wouldn't say that. The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and... bad things.

_Hey..." _He cupped her chin and put their foreheads together,_ "The good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant. And we definitely added to his pile of good things. And... if you look carefully, maybe we did indeed make a couple of little changes."_

"No Krafayis."

"No Krafayis."

Amy gazed around the room slowly, the Doctor turned around and watched her stil slightly red and puffy face lighten as she walked towards _Vase with Twelve Sunflowers._

For Amy, Vincent

"If we had got married, our kids would have had very,

**_very_**_ red hair." _She sniffed.

_"The ultimate ginger."_

She turned and smiled sadly at him. _"The ultimate ginge."_ and chuckled softly before sighing , _"Brighter than sunflowers."_

* * *

**September 9, 2013. Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam.**

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are estatic to announce that this painting found in The Mustad family's attic-after it was believed to be fake, has indeed proved to be a Van Gogh piece. The piece was painted on July 4, 1888 and is titled "Sunset at Montmajour."

Along with many reporters and figures that were important in some vague way, the Doctor sat in the room of the big announcement. According to the psychic paper he was a very important member of the German press.

Another reporter leaned over once the announcement was finished, "Excuse me sir, I was wondering-"

The Doctor stood up quickly, fixed his purple tweed jacket. "Sorry, no time to talk, I have to go visit the man of the hour."

* * *

He stood in the console room, fliddling with a few switches. Clara had been back babysitting Artie and Angie for a few days so the Doctor had been alone upon hearing news about Vincent's new painting.

Oh, how the Doctor felt so alone- he knew he was, not because Clara wasn't there, because he was without _The Roman_, _The Child of the TARDIS_ and _The Girl Who Waited. Rory, River and..._

"Amy...my Amelia. How I've failed you-" His lone voice cracked and he started crying over his Amelia. He couldn't change what had happened to them-Amy and Rory- but he got so angry realizing that he, the Doctor, the oncoming storm, couldn't have helped them at all.

And River... She had gone to the Library a very short time after Manhattan, she was dealing with that pain that her parents had left too. That last night together at The Singing Towers Of Darilium, he had looked up at her oblivious face and happy face and broke down. He sobbed, as she kept asking him what had happened or what was wrong but he couldn't say- because of damned spoilers.

He inhaled deeply and rubbed his face feverishly, trying to calm himself down and think properly. As he huffed out he remembered those days with Vincent and Amy, the time they visited the museum and the guide with the bow-tie had reduced Vincent to tears with his kind words.

For at least ten minutes he sat in the chair near the console, thinking of those days, and trying to compose himself. And as if magic, an idea popped into his mind.

**_July 4, 1888, Arles_**** France **He keyed in.

* * *

"Vincent, my old friend!" He called to a figure in the distance with a easel, painting away.

The greying ginger man looked up in surprise. He watched the Doctor come closer as he tried to recall meeting him previously. "I'm sorry. I do not quite understand, you see, to my recollection, I have never met you."

"Oh, but you will meet me one day."

The painter stood up from his stool and gazed curiously at this damaged man, and the peculiar blue box he had appeared from in the distance. That blue box he had accidentally painted into the background of this piece.

"Look, Vincent. I'm going to visit you one day in the near future, and you may remember me or maybe- maybe you won't, but it is critical that you do not tell me or my friend... oh."

Vincent watched this stranger's face fall as he mentioned a friend, but he was so very confused so he didn't interrupt.

"My friend, Amy. Let me tell you... that one day you'll grow _very_ fond of her-I did too."

"Why are you saying this?" The artist asked, brow furrowed.

"Vincent." The man said, leaning down looking right into his eye and putting his hand on Vincent's shoulder, "Is that painting of great value to you?" His purple coat tails swirled as he spun to point to the half finished canvas. Vincent stood there stalk still, his eyes flicking back and forth from the Doctor to the canvas. "I know that you sometimes don't think much of your work. You should it's brilliant!"

"You are too kind, for no one thinks that they're worth anything." Vincent chucked.

"Amy will- she does."

"You are not making any sense..."

"Please, Vincent. Please...could I have this painting to give to my friend. I've sort of lost her and I can't get her back... but it would mean the world to both of us-"

The man rambled on, sadness gleaming in his eyes. Vincent looked at his painting one last time; it was anything but brilliant, but this man seemed to think it was, and if it was for a friend...?

"Alright." He took the painting off the canvas, and handed it to the Doctor. "No need to convince me more."

He was taken back with a large hug, and with that the man thanked him and ran back into the blue box. It started fading and making a very unpleasant wheezing sound. Before Vincent knew it, the man, the box and his painting were nowhere to be seen.

* * *

"Do you know a Mr and Mrs Rory Williams?"

"Yes, I work with Rory. They're odd folk always talking about made up things."

"Like what?"

"A Doctor and a blue box, and then things I've never even heard of- complete gibberish- like... like wireless internet?! And Amy used to wear the most innapropriate clothing I have _ever_ seen on a woman of her age; very revealing!"

The Doctor laughed and smiled sadly at this man. He definitely knew them. But he also reminded him slightly of when he brought new companions onto the TARDIS and how confused they were. "Could you pass this on to them?"

"May I ask, Sir, what is it?"

"A painting, they'll understand the meaning behind it."

"Whatever you say." The New Yorker, looked confused but took the rolled up painting anyways. As the Doctor walked away the man called out to him "Who do I say it's from."

"The Doctor."

* * *

"Hey, Amy?" Rory called from the front door.

He heard a faint "Yea'?" come from down the hall. He walked to their small kitchen to see Amy sitting at the table. She was wearing a black a-line dress with a white collar and bright red tights.

She couldn't stand the clothing from this era, it barely let her wear anything that was _her_ style. Well... she could if she really wanted to, but she worried that the neighbourhood watch would start a protest against her..._again_.

"Roger Simmons, passed this on to me at work today." After they had been trapped back in New York, Rory had started working as a Doctor at a local hospital and she had stayed home for a bit, before deciding to write for a living. She was currently half way through a story called, _Summer Falls_.

"I haven't looked at it yet, but he said it was from some wacky guy... in a bow-tie."

Amy's eyes hardened, and Rory could tell she was trying not to cry. She had tried to cut the Doctor out of her life for the better, because she knew he wasn't coming back. But she had just turned into that distrusting girl (that she had been for fourteen years of her life) who was waiting for her Raggedy Man. She was obviously broken, and so was Rory, but he worried about her. Every once and while, Rory would come home and see her curled up somewhere sobbing, sometimes for hours simply because she couldn't calm down.

"The Doctor?" she whispered.

Rory did a slight nod and handed her the canvas.

As she unrolled it, she noticed red pen marks; writing, but as she was about to read it the actual painting stole her attention.

_Was it?_

It couldn't be...?

She focused back on the writing, she knew that handwriting:

_Amelia,_

We did make a slight difference after all.

-The Doctor


End file.
